


Lovesick

by cryden



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sherlock, Fluff, M/M, OOC Sherlock, One Shot, Sick John, and Anderson is a dick as per usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryden/pseuds/cryden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Like hell I will. The day I go home because of some sniffling is the day you can solve a murder in a minute," John's stubbornness never seized to amaze him.</p><p>"You've got a timer on that ridiculous cellphone of yours, haven't you?" Sherlock asked John.</p><p>"Yeah, but how does that relate to-"</p><p>"You'll understand in about a minute,"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovesick

"John"

"No"

_"John"_

_"No"_

"John, you're ill. Judging by your incessant sniffling, sneezing, coughing, and unusually high temperature I'd say your exhibiting all the early signs of the flu," Sherlock said calmly, "You have to go home."

"It's just allergies. I told you," John snapped back and bent over as he was overwhelmed with another coughing fit.

"Don't be ridiculous. Just take a cab home and I'll finish up here," Sherlock narrowed his eyes and turned back to the crime scene.

A dead auburn-haired woman was laying in the middle of the marble floor. Her arms and stomach were slashed and crimson blood was leaking out onto the floor. The murder had taken place inside an upscale hotel in an elegant ballroom. The event at which the murder had taken place was a ball for a young debutante by the name of Rosalind Pierce. The ball had been interrupted by a blackout, at the end of which Rosalind Pierce's aunt, Ruby Thanen.

The guests, including Mr. and Mrs. Pierce,  were currently being interrogated by the police. Given the sheer size of the party, this would take a few hours at the least. That wouldn't do. Given John's natural obstinacy, he would want to remain present throughout the entire ordeal.

"Like hell I will. The day I go home because of some sniffling is the day you can solve a murder in a minute," John's stubbornness never seized to amaze him.

"You've got a timer on that ridiculous cellphone of yours, haven't you?" Sherlock asked John.

"Yeah but how does that relate to-"

"You'll understand in about a minute,"

~

"I can't believe you did that," John said in awe.

"It was quite simple, really," Sherlock stated, smirking and checking on a bag of severed thumbs in the refrigerator. They were back in 221B after Sherlock had simultaneously solved a murder and made Anderson look like an fool.

_~_

_"_ _You'll understand in about a minute,"_

_"You can't mean..." John looked up sharply and stared at Sherlock, trying to hide his apparent curiosity._

_"But of course," Sherlock smiled mysteriously and turned up his coat collar._

_"How?"_

_"Elementary, my dear Watson." Sherlock strode towards Greg Lestrade, the police chief._

_"Lestrade."_

_"Yes?" Lestrade turned questioningly towards Sherlock._

_"It might be of interest for you to know that I've solved the case." Sherlock gazed levelly at the chief._

_"Don't be stupid Sherlock. You just got here." Anderson scoffed._

_"And?."_

_"And it's highly unlikely you have a suspect in mind, let alone a guilty one." Anderson sneered. The rest of the police force on scene looked unconvinced as well._

_"John set your timer." John obliged, staring skeptically at Sherlock. He ignored the heavy pounding of his head and clogged nose to watch the miraculous deduction that was sure to take place. Sherlock smirked slightly and turned up his coat collar._

_"It's obvious to me that this was a crime of passion. The brutally sliced stomach and other vicious wounds are enough to attest to that. As to who committed it, the culprit is none other than Mrs. Pierce. Ms. Thanen was having an affair with her husband, after all. That part was easy. They're both wearing the same men's cologne. Notice how Mrs. Pierce is limping. That's most likely because she fell and hit a table during her scuffle with Ms. Thanen. I also noticed that there was a scratch in the table, as if from a knife, and the same scratch is on Mrs. Pierce's purse. I'm sure you'll find a knife in there and if you compare it to the wound, it will match. Furthermore, there are small bits of fingernail on a scratch on Ms. Thanen's left shoulder. Those fingernails are the same color as Mrs. Pierce's, now chipped, nails. Do I need to explain further?" Sherlock tightened his scarf and started walking back._

_"That's ridiculous. Why would such an esteemed lady as Mrs. Pierce kill someone?"_

_"Anderson, stop the flattery. You're flirting with a murderer." Sherlock grabbed John's arm and walked towards their car._

_"Alright, you heard him. Check her purse." Lestrade said, despite Anderson's many oppositions. An officer walked towards Veronica Pierce and took her appropriately blood-colored bag. Her eyes were darting nervously around and she looked like she was still in a stupor from Sherlock's accusation. The officer pulled out a small, serrated blade. At that, Mrs. Pierce started to run but was soon caught by a group of police officers._

_"She would've ruined it all!" Her screams echoed through the silent hotel courtyard. Anderson stood in shock. After shaking off his surprise, he promptly stuck his nose in the air and stalked away from the scene._

_~_

"You didn't have to do that." John coughed heavily and looked up at Sherlock, eyes watering.

"I would've solved it soon anyways. But, enough about the case. Your condition is...worrying" John frowned slightly. Sherlock was rarely this affectionate.

"It's a simple cold Sherlock." He rolled his eyes.

"Your 40 degree fever says differently."

"How did you-ah nevermind." John hung his jacket on a coat hook and doubled over in an other coughing fit. Sherlock tried to hide his concern. _Think of Mycroft_ , he thought, _think of what he said_.

Caring is a weakness. Caring is a weakness. Caring is a weakn-. His silent mantra was interrupted by another fit of violent coughs.

"Oh for god's sake John. Why do you have to be such a stubborn arse all the time?" Sherlock grabbed a blanket from John's chair and threw it over his shoulders.

Ignoring John's protests, he bundled it around his body and pushed him onto the plush armchair.

"Sit." John glared at him.

"Was this necessary?" He snuggled into the chair more but his eyes shot daggers at Sherlock. Sherlock tried not to coo. Little John. His entire body could fit in the armchair and, swaddled in the blanket, he looked so tiny and cozy.

Before he could stop himself, Sherlock brushed a strand of John's blonde hair off his warm forehead. John's eyes were wide, carefully tracing Sherlock's movements with his gaze. They both held their breath as Sherlock's nimble fingers rested a few seconds too long on John's face.

Their eyes were like magnets, only a few inches of distance remained between their lips. Sherlock could feel John's sharp intake of breath and his body was filled with want. He leaned in slightly, ever so slowly and...pulled away and averted his eyes. John didn't move, he couldn't. He was still in shock.

"Your-your fever is bad. I'll get you some...er...tea." Sherlock stood up shakily. His mind was scolding him. _Not John. Not John. Caring was a weakness. Caring for John was even more of a weakness._

"Oh...um...thanks...I'll be...er...here." John stammered. Sherlock could feel his heart beating a mile a minute. 

"Right, right." Sherlock stepped around a bag of ears and opened a cupboard with trembling fingers. He moved vials of blood and iodine to find a teabag. The kettle was already on the stove, so he poured some water in it. At least, he thought he did. With how distracted he was, he wasn't sure if he poured water or blood in the kettle. Hopefully the first. While he was waiting for the water to boil, he cautiously stepped into the living room. John still looked slightly shellshocked.

"How's your fever?" Sherlock feigned casualness by pretending to look through a case file in his armchair.

"Good, I think." was the reply

"That's...good..."

"Yeah." John nodded. The silence stretched out awkwardly. Sherlock stared at John over the case file. Their eyes met and Sherlock could almost feel the tension. He shook himself out of his stupor and focused on the case.

Dead surgeon. Ten-story building. Apparent suicide.

_Were John's eyes always so blue?_

No fingerprints. Suspected homicide.

_John's lips looked so...soft._

Six possible suspects.

_It would be so easy to just lean over..._

When John licked his lips ever so slowly (that bastard), Sherlock couldn't take it any more. He practically lunged forward and attached his lips to John's. John gasped in surprise but soon began to kiss back with a desperate fervor. Their tongues tangled and moans escaped from their lips.

"Sherlock-what-?" He was cut off with a light nip to his jaw and his question quickly turned into a groan of pleasure.

Then their lips met again and it was like paradise. Sherlock leaned in closer until he could practically feel John's racing heartbeat through the layers of clothing separating them. He moaned into John's mouth and their tongues wrestled as they kept getting closer and closer and c l o s e r. They crashed together like waves on a shore, hungry for more. If they could hear the kettle whistling, they didn't care. They were too engrossed in eachother. When they finally came to a stop, they were both gasping for breath. Their pupils were blown wide and their mouths were hanging open in complete and utter shock.

"That was..." breathed John.

"Incredible," Sherlock agreed. They both came to their senses and heard the shrill whistle of the kettle.

"I'll go...uh...turn it off..." Sherlock stumbled out of the room.

John's blanket had been severely displaced during the kiss. It was now lying on the ground, but he wasn't cold. Quite the opposite actually. He felt like liquid fire was coursing through his veins. His skin burned where Sherlock had touched him with those amazing, slender fingers. His lips were chapped and bruised badly. John was confused and yearning and in love all at the same time.

Of course.

It was Sherlock, it had always been Sherlock. He couldn't imagine his soulmate before, but now that he knew, he realized it couldn't have been anyone else.

"Sherlock?" John called. Sherlock walked in with a steaming mug of tea. John's eyes traveled from his lithe legs to his deliciously messy curls.

"Yes John?" He asked cautiously.

"Oh, just get over here." John pulled Sherlock's head towards his own.

~

"I knew this would happen."

"Well, you didn't exactly push me away."

"You were kissing me!"

"I-ATCHOO!!!" Sherlock sneezed loudly. John sighed and passed him the tissue box.

"I had the damn flu!"

"Would you rather I didn't kiss you?"

"Shut up, you dick."

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not have another chapter, haven't decided yet, but for know I'm leaving it as a one shot.


End file.
